This Is For (L is for Location)
by FortySevens
Summary: This is For: A series of mostly unconnected one-shots based on self-generated 1word prompts. L is for Location: "Oh my god, did Steve just rip a log in half with his bare hands? I so have to tweet that."


**L is for Location (Clint/Darcy)**

(Jumping on the holy-shit-Clint-Barton-owns-a-farm bandwagon. Because wow. Thanks Marvel)

"Oh my god, did Steve just rip a log in half _with his bare hands_? I _so_ have to tweet that."

Sitting on an overturned crate on the front porch, Clint put down the screwdriver he was using to find the mechanism in the base of quiver that kept sticking and reached for his sidearm.

He stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes at the pair of women making their way up the dirt path toward the house.

They both had bags in hand, and the skinny brunette wearing a _way_ oversized plaid shirt smacked the other woman on the arm, "Don't even think about it, Darcy!"

"Darcy? Doc Foster?"

"There's my favorite jackbooted thug!" Darcy called, waving a hand as she grabbed Jane's arm with the other and tugged her ahead. "This place is so country chic, I love it!"

Shoving the Glock into the back of his jeans, Clint grabbed a rag and wiped his hands off on it as he met them at the bottom of the stairs, saw out of the corner of his eye that Steve and Tony had abandoned their argument and were coming over too, "What are you doing here?"

Jane pulled her phone out of her pocket, "Thor and that Wanda woman came by the other day," she consulted something on the screen. "He said, and I quote, 'my shield brethren and I have retreated from the battle with the creature Ultron, but we require assistance at Hawkeye's residence'. So here we are."

"I asked why Stark couldn't just hire some caterers," Darcy piped up.

"And Thor said that you were trying to stay _under the radar_," Jane finished, and then elbowed Darcy again. "Which is why you _can't_ Instagram a video of Steve ripping another log in half. _Seriously_."

She looked exasperated, but fond, as she talked to the brunette Clint had dealt with all those years ago in New Mexico.

He shook himself out of the memories of those dusty winter days, "Well that was nice of him."

With a roll of her eyes and a fake sigh, Darcy waved a hand, "So show me the kitchen. I can't believe you guys have been here for what, a week now? What have you even been eating?"

"Omelets. Lots and lots of omelets," Tony grumbled, and Steve looked sheepish as he made a sound in agreement, as if he was worried that he was going to insult Clint with his opinion.

Even he never wanted to look at an egg again.

_Ever_.

She and Jane looked at each other and winced, "Yikes," Darcy muttered as she edged away from them, "Oh my god, is that a barn? Dude, how did we not know about this before now?"

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose, "So many reasons, Lewis. So many."

"Do you have chickens here? Cows? Oh my god, can I go horseback riding?"

Jane sighed, "Darcy," she called out. "That vein in his forehead is starting to do that throbbing thing again. The last time that happened I think he got Coulson to reassign him to Erik."

"Oh, sorry!"

"Agent Barton?"

Hours later, after a dinner that had no eggs in it _what so ever_, Clint looked up from the fire he was stoking in the pit outside, "Not an agent anymore, Doc. You can call me Clint."

Jane tugged her flannel tighter around her, "And you can call me Jane," she stepped off the porch. "Tell me really, are you guys all right? Thor didn't have time to tell us before he and Wanda had to leave. Who _is_ Wanda anyway?"

"She's one of us," he said, then shook his head. "And we're, we should be fine, I guess."

With a derisive snort, she sat down on the empty chair to his right, "Not instilling a lot of confidence there, Barton."

"Things have been," he swallowed and poked at the fire. "Difficult."

She hummed, but didn't say anything else as she shifted closer to the fire, her hands hovering over the flames.

Looking down at the stick he held, he shifted it from one hand to the other before he looked back up, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"_Why_ are you and Darcy here?"

She smiled as she met his gaze, "Usually I'd worry that being closer to you guys would put us in more danger, but right now, Darcy needs something to focus on more."

He tilted his head, eyebrow arched in askance.

"You didn't hear?"

"I've been a little, well, self-focused lately."

"So Erik said," Jane's smile faded a little bit. "Anyway, we found out that Ian, the intern Darcy brought in when we were in London was actually a Hydra plant. She's not really taking it well."

"Oh."

Jane sighed, leaning back and looking up at the blanket of stars overhead, "Is it bad that I'm wasn't at all surprised? At least _you_ were a known entity."

Eyes flaring wide, Clint looked at her, and then flinched away from her knowing smirk, "I uh, I didn't know you knew."

"I'm absentminded, not stupid, Clint," she laughed when his shoulders tensed and waved a hand. "When we were in Tromso, we had a lot of downtime, so we talked. She was worried about you."

He hung his head, tossing the stick in the fire, "Yeah," he tried to come up with something else to say, but words failed him. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for long minutes, Jane looking back up at the stars while Clint looked back at the house, could see the flicker of movement in the windows that led to the sitting room.

"Doc, Jane, I'm-"

"Hey," she cut him off gently. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

Sighing, he pushed off the chair and rounded the fire pit, stopping when Jane put a hand on his arm, "Darcy isn't either. None of what happened was your fault. _None_ of it."

Clint patted her hand before he stuffed his in his pockets, "Maybe I'll believe that one day."

Shoulders hunched, he made his way inside, and Natasha was leaning against the back of the couch, one arm wrapped around her waist as she held the other out to him.

"Yeah Tasha?" He murmured as she reeled him in, curling one arm around his neck and he rested his head on her shoulder.

She squeezed his neck, "You look like you needed a hug."

A heavy sigh rumbled through his chest, "Foster is very smart. I don't like it."

"She told you what I've been trying to tell you for years. I _love_ it."

He huffed and tried to pull away, but she held firm, the hand on his neck squeezing almost to the point of pain until he let up, "You're supposed to be my _friend_," he whined, trying to poke her side, but she intercepted with her other hand and bent his finger back. "Ow!"

Eventually, Natasha put her hands on either side of his head, gently urging him off her shoulder, and she pressed her lips to his forehead, "Talk to Darcy," she tapped her forehead against his. "You'll feel better."

He glanced over to the kitchen, and he could see Tony's back where he sat at the table, facing his tablet as he talked to someone, probably Pepper, "She's up in my room."

"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay."

There was a big, _gargantuan_ really, bed in the guest room at the end of the hall, where she and Jane were crashing with Natasha, because Clint's house was big, but not _that_ big.

Darcy was lying down on the right side, staring up at the ceiling and counting the thin spider web cracks and imperfections in the wood.

She'd retreated to relative solitude not long after dinner, the tense undercurrent of everyone downstairs sending flares of worry and discomfort deep in the pit of her stomach.

Like it wasn't enough that she was still freaking out about the Intern.

Now _that_ was a fuckup of monumental proportions.

Sighing, she rolled onto her side and tugged the sleeve of her sweater back, revealing the angry pair of red marks on the inside of her right arm from her own taser.

She ran her fingers over the wounds, tensing when she ran them over a particularly tender spot.

A knock on the door tore her from her musings, and she tugged her sweater back down as she sat up, "Yeah?"

The door opened enough for Clint to poke his head inside, "Can I come in."

She nodded and drew her legs up as she rested against the headboard, "Spoiler alert: it's _your_ house. Because you own a house. And _farmland_."

Laughing quietly, he edged inside and leaned against the wall, letting the door shut next to him, "Still trying to wrap your head around it?"

"_Dude_."

He chuckled again, and then shook his head before he looked up finally met her gaze, "Hi."

Darcy smiled, her nose wrinkling impishly, "Hey there, stranger. How've you been?"

"I've had my fair share of ups and downs lately, actually," he shot back easily. "Got brainwashed, company I worked for went under, _fucking giant homicidal robots._"

Pressing a hand to her mouth to control her giggles, she shook her head, "All things considered, gotta say, you don't look too terrible."

Clint crossed the room, arching a brow for permission and waiting or Darcy's answering nod before he perched on the bed a foot from her feet, "How are you doing?"

She rolled her eyes, "Janey told you, didn't she?" She waved a hand in dismissal before he could say anything. "So you know. And it sucked. Whatever."

"Whatever?"

Darcy nodded hard, and then looked away, her vacant gaze slipping over to the half-open window, "I actually, uh, tried to call you," she murmured. "When we were in Norway."

"I used that phone to call terrorists when I was," he swallowed hard. "Brainwashed. You know that, right?"

"Thor told me," she was nodding slowly as she picked at her cuticles. "I wasn't really sure if you were going to be happy to see me. If I were you, I'd want to put what Mr. It's All About Me did to you behind you. _Way _behind you. Wanda told me I was being an idiot."

Flinching, Clint reached out and curled his fingers around her ankle, scooting closer as he stroked his thumb back and forth toward the arch of her foot, "Natasha told me the same thing."

Darcy finally looked up, searching his eyes before she smiled thinly, and he shook his head as he stood, "Shove over," he muttered, toeing off his shoes and kicking them under the bed as she shifted over toward the middle.

Stretching out next to her, he curled his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his side, "I'm sorry Darcy," he murmured, his free hand drawing patterns on the knee pressed next to his hip.

She tilted her head, leaning back slightly so she could look him in the eye, "For _what_?"

"It's not that I didn't think about you, didn't _want_ to see you, I just-"

"You don't need to apologize," she cut him off, curling closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "I knew what I was getting into when I bought you that beer."

Clint shook his head, then pressed his lips to her hairline, "No you didn't."

"Don't argue with me," she poked his side.

He grabbed her wrist, dropping it like it burned him when she let out a pained hiss, "Darcy?"

"It's nothing, it's nothing," she murmured as she drew her right arm against her middle. "I'm fine."

"_Darcy_."

She huffed, knocking her head against his shoulder before she let her arm flop against his stomach, and he gently pulled her sleeve back, a breath hissing between his teeth at the marks, "Darce?"

Darcy scowled hard, "Asshole got to my taser before I could. Jane had to knock him out with a microscope."

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he gently lifted her wrist and pressed a kiss to her pulse point, "Sorry. It's not much, but, yeah."

"Such words from the man who once seduced me into his shitty hotel room."

He snorted, his fingers sliding from her wrist to lace with hers, their joined hands resting on his chest, "Wasn't hard."

"Clint Barton, did you just call me easy?"

"_Never_."

She smirked, turning her head to kiss his shoulder, "_Sure_ you didn't."

An easy silence fell over the room as they listened to the sound of the house and the rest of its occupants as they settled in for the evening, Clint's thumb running up and down the curve of her shoulder.

"Hey Darcy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

Smiling, she leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth before she resettled, "Me too."

At some point later that night, Jane came in from her stargazing, took one look at them curled up and dozing, and shook her head before she grabbed her bag, turning off the lights and slipping back into the hall.

Distantly, Clint heard the quiet tones of Natasha's voice before a pair of footsteps faded in the direction of his bedroom.

Darcy murmured in her sleep, and he ran his hand up and down her back until she resettled, throwing one leg over his with a sleepy sigh while he curled closer to her.

He pressed his lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo as he let himself fall asleep.

Clint felt a lot lighter as he downed the last of his coffee at breakfast the next morning, the rest of the team finishing their breakfasts at the oversized table.

"Hey guys," Darcy swung in on the doorframe, her other hand free of the plate she'd taken to Bruce, who was camping out, alone, one the edge of the property. "Is there supposed to be some dude with a metal arm lurking in the hay loft? Because there totally is."

Steve's mug fell from his hand, ceramic shattering and coffee splattering all over the floor.

"_What?_"


End file.
